Love Without Conditions: What Black Girls Deserve from Adults

When I was 16 years old, I was sitting at a computer laughing and joking with friends when an adult attempted to redirect our attention toward completing college applications. Frustrated by my influence over my peers, she raised her voice and asked, in front of everyone, “Are you even going to college?”

My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I felt embarrassed, exposed, and suddenly unworthy. I was sitting among peers with the same grades, in the same space, preparing for the same future, yet I was singled out and shamed, not for my ability, but for my personality. That moment was not about guidance. It was about control.

I tell this story often because it illustrates a truth we do not talk about enough: adults who are charged with shaping children’s futures can unintentionally cause harm when silencing becomes a tool for compliance. Had I not had strong support at home, that single moment could have altered how I saw myself, my worth, and my access to opportunity. While it did not stop me, it reshaped how I understood psychological safety—and taught me that acceptance often came at the cost of conforming to white femininity norms: being quiet, agreeable, polite, seen but not heard, and prioritizing adult comfort over authentic self-expression.

Too often in schools and youth-serving spaces, I see this same power struggle play out. Shame is used to make children “fall in line.” According to Davis (2019), shame activates the same neurological responses as physical threat. The body responds through fight, flight, or freeze—children may lash out, disappear, or internalize the belief that something about them is fundamentally wrong. For many Black girls, these moments accumulate. They learn early that their natural way of being is something to manage, suppress, or unlearn.

For years, I worked to undo the belief that my authenticity made me unworthy. And once I began to reclaim myself, I asked a deeper question: How do we ensure Black girls are not forced to spend their adulthood recovering from childhood?

The answer begins with adults. Supporting Black girls in their authenticity requires self-regulation from mentors, parents, caregivers, educators, and anyone entrusted with their care. It asks us to pause and ask, What about this behavior makes me uncomfortable—and why? Often, that discomfort is rooted in our own conditioning, fear, or unresolved beliefs about control, respectability, and safety.

When adults are willing to do this internal work, a powerful shift occurs. We move from managing children to trusting them. From fear to guidance. From compliance to care. Sometimes, the most radical act is taking a deep breath and reminding ourselves: the kids are all right.

When adults prioritize their own comfort over children’s development, we unintentionally harm the very people we are meant to protect. We ask children to shrink so that we can feel secure—and in doing so, we place them on a long journey to rediscover who they are, if they are given the chance.

So this month, as we talk about love—how we show it, how we receive it, how we celebrate it, I invite us to reflect honestly. Are we truly loving Black girls when their authenticity challenges us? Or are we teaching them that love is conditional?

Because love, when practiced with intention, does not silence: It guides. It protects. And it makes room for children to become whole.